Loving Paul Phoenix
by Salysha
Summary: Paul Phoenix and a story for each: reunion with Michelle Chang, bonding with Mokujin, and friendship with the Law family.
1. Michelle Chang

**Disclaimer: **Tekken and Tekken characters are the property of Namco Limited. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

**Summary: **It has been twenty years since Paul Phoenix and Michelle Chang competed at the same tournament. Now, their reunion has a taste of warmth and a touch of nostalgia.

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**Loving Paul Phoenix**

by Salysha

**Meeting Anew**  
_featuring Michelle Chang_

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"Paul? Paul Phoenix?"

Paul Phoenix looked up to find a woman looking at him expectantly. "Yeah?" he grunted.

"You don't recognize me?"

"I don't know, lady. Should I?" Paul wanted to be left alone. He had little energy left after the day, and the fact ate at him. He was in no mood to play twenty questions with a stranger.

"It's Michelle Chang."

The name took a trice to register. "Michelle Chang," he echoed, and then did a double take. As he looked at the woman more closely, he recognized her with a bang. "Michelle!" Paul rose hastily. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was you."

"It is good to see you. It has been a while."

"Please, ugh, sit down." Paul gestured haphazardly at the table, and she took a seat, as did he. "Sorry about the reception. I wasn't expecting company."

He realized how that sounded, but she waved it off instantly. "My fault entirely. I saw you sitting there, and I couldn't resist." Michelle Chang placed the bags she had been carrying on the seat next to her and divested herself of the long coat she had been wearing, thus revealing a beautiful, embroidered dress. The elegant boots that climbed to her knees complemented the outfit.

"Of all people... How long has it been?"

Michelle thought about it. "Twenty years? It was with that Kazuya business..."

A shadow passed across Paul's face, but he controlled his expression quickly for the benefit of the company. "Something like that. You look great," he said sincerely. He knew he didn't; the five o'clock shadow he could safely sport had turned into two-day stubble long ago, and it wasn't the '80s anymore; the scruffy looks were no longer awesome any more than flamingo shirts or sockless loafers were. _Speaking of which..._ Paul pulled his feet under the table.

"Thank you. You look well."

Pity compliments: nothing boosted a man's ego more. At least he still had hair on his head, Paul decided, and ran a hand through his mane. It was getting long, and he recalled someone saying he should get it cut. When was that—six months ago? He was starting to look like the Mishimas with their hair issues... Instantly, Paul Phoenix promised himself he would pay a visit to the barber's. Right now, he should try to talk to the lady at his table, as the lady was probably starting to think he was a nutter. "What have you been up to, Michelle? What do you do?"

"Well, I suppose I should just give you the highlights; two decades could get tedious to recount," Michelle said with a light laugh. "I've worked on environmental projects at home in Arizona: aquatic ecology, wildlife preservation, reforestation, environmental protection..."

"You always did do that important stuff," Paul said with a sigh.

Michelle frowned. "It _is_ important."

"No, that's what I meant. You always did important things, like things that really mattered." Paul's voice grew a little gruffer. He tried to think of something important he had done or accomplished. In his hours of drunken honesty, the count always amounted to zero. Brawling and punching people were the only things he had ever been good for.

"The world needs different kinds of people, with different interests, doing different things," Michelle remarked. "It would make a dull existence otherwise."

"Suppose so." It felt sort of nice, with her talking away with him as an equal. Most got scared or acted like he didn't have half a brain. He always set them straight, but he sometimes wished he didn't have to.

"What about you? You still want to be number one?"

"That's not me, that's—!" Paul caught himself. "The toughest in the universe, yeah. Still my intention to prove just that."

"Never one to lack confidence, Paul Phoenix."

She didn't say it as a slight, though, and Paul had the grace to chuckle himself. "Just growing tired with the victory being taken away from me, s'all." Paul Phoenix gazed at Michelle in what he hoped to be a subtle glance. That woman was still as pretty as they came. "What brings you here? You're not training, are ya?"

"I don't compete anymore," Michelle said in good humor. "I'm bringing supplies to my daughter, Julia."

Michelle Chang had a girl of competing age? When did that happen? A lump settled in Paul Phoenix's throat. He could've had a son by now, too. He was pushing fifty, and what did he have to show for it? Not much in the way professional success, no money, and zilch in the way of a family. He could always hang around with the little Law, though... Come to think of it, he should. It would help out Marshall and that missis of his. Marshall had been down lately... But, it wasn't like having your own kid. Paul shook the thought off. It hadn't been an issue so far, so what was he hallucinating now for? He had championships to win and people to beat. Bears to skin, for that matter.

_Waitaminute, what had she said? Julia . . . Chang?_ The name connected to the image of a petite brunette in a flash. Of course. The moves, the name... Why hadn't he seen it? "You don't look alike." Michelle threw him a startled look, and, instantly, Paul Phoenix congratulated himself on a foot well put. "I— I didn't mean..."

"You know, I have never heard that before," Michelle said and tapped at the table thoughtfully, and Paul Phoenix wished he would mysteriously catch on fire and be excused of his blunder. "Strangers always say we look exactly alike, and my daughter has heard it all her life. Julia would love you."

"That's not really necessary," Paul Phoenix said gruffly, and Michelle Chang burst out laughing. Her laughter was joyous and crystal clear, and it occurred to Paul he had never heard her laugh freely. She had always been such a serious girl, so driven by her ambitions. It seemed she had forgiven him for his big mouth, and he briefly wondered if the Michelle of twenty years ago would have let him off that easily.

"You are right, though: Julia is adopted."

_Talk about a save; what were the odds_? A small grin flashed on Paul's lips. _Like the phoenix from the ashes..._ Out loud, he said, "An adopted daughter, huh?" He took a swig from his bottle.

Michelle regarded him squarely. "You get a child and none of the labor," she said with a sly look and watched in open mirth as Paul stared at her in shock and nearly choked in his beer. "Oh, come on, Paul. We're not teenagers anymore."

Paul was still coughing his pipes clear when Michelle's gaze landed a familiar profile. "You must excuse me; she is here. Julia!" Michelle rose from her seat with an apologetic look at Paul and leaned over to pick her coat. Paul got up quickly with the last suffering cough, and watched as a young woman made her way over to them.

"Mother, where—" she started quickly before realizing Michelle wasn't alone and taking in Paul's ruffian looks and 6'2" figure.

"Julia, this is Paul Phoenix. Paul, my daughter Julia."

Julia looked at him with all the suspicion of her nineteen years before trying, "Hello."

"Hi, kid," Paul greeted, trying to be nice, but earning an affronted look from Julia and a slightly reproachful one from Michelle, whose eyes betrayed her amusement.

"Mother, I was—" Julia couldn't hold back and she started a story on something Paul wasn't really keen on hearing, and so he sat back down. As Michelle picked her belongings and replied to Julia's account on the side, Paul noticed how her voice had caught a motherly tone. Melodious, even-tempered words soothed away the anxiety, and, by the time Michelle was done, Julia had calmed down enough to spare a shy smile in Paul's direction and speak in lower, musical notes herself.

"Would you take this? I'll say goodbye and come right after you." Julia left them with one stuffed bag in hand, and Michelle remained standing by the table. Her eyes shone softly and filled Paul with a warm feeling as well. It felt good to meet a real lady. It was as though it rubbed off on him and made him a better person, too. In the end, Michelle touched him lightly, and a beautiful smile lit her face as she said, "It was good to see you, Paul."

"Take care, Michelle."

Paul listened to Michelle and Julia's retreat. As he heard the girl go on about something again, his spirits boosted. Maybe it was a good thing not to have kids of his own. Too much work with them; it was far better to have someone else raise them. He wasn't meant to go for that staid father-mode.

Paul's beer had gone mostly unattended, and the bottle still had half left. He raised it to his lips, but suddenly, he wasn't feeling like lager or that big frosty he had planned on gulping afterward. Paul put the beer aside and threw a few bills on the table. He didn't have time to sit around; he had to get back in shape. Paul Phoenix had a universe to beat and a championship to claim.

**_fin_**

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**Cordial thanks** to **Gypsie** (Gypsie Rose) for the proofreading!

**Published** March 7, 2009.

Over time, I hope to expand this to a collection of three single pieces on Paul Phoenix. Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	2. Mokujin

**Summary**: Paul Phoenix bonds with Mokujin.

Hello, welcome! Thanks for all the interest on the first Paul Phoenix fic. Here comes the second installment, this time with friendship between Paul and Mokujin.

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**Friendship of Strangers  
**_featuring Mokujin_

by Salysha

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Being put up against a bear and having it called your rival had an insulting ring to it. This, however, was a new low. Paul glanced at the prancing piece of wood and hedged between calling the practice session off and making him some firewood. The thing seemed kind of eager to fight, though, and he swallowed his cussedness. They were outdoors, in a sunshine-bright day and with green grass around them. It was a nice day for a fine beating.

"Let's get it over with," he said, and added in an afterthought, "Chop, chop."

The fight was over too soon. The session was felled as soon as the opponent, and there was little that could bring the mood up again. Whomever the tree had been posing as, it had not been enough. Mokujin had been defeated, and Paul Phoenix had triumphed.

Paul was ready to move on, but the tree had frozen in its place. It hunched on a rock, as miserable as only a sentient being could. Paul glanced over his shoulder awkwardly. He couldn't leave now, could he? He took a hesitant step forward and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He took them out and strolled some. Paul cleared his throat and tried to think of something nice to say to the losing party.

"So... you're a piece of wood. How's that working for you?"

Did trees cry? Resin? Sap? He hated sap. Dammit. Paul shifted on his feet and wanted nothing more than to take off. And yet, there the tree was, bawling its eyes out.

"Umm... are you okay?"

What was he doing? Like the tree could have answered, even if it understood. When pigs fly and trees speak...

"I failed," the tree said with a sob.

To his amazement, Paul could understand every word. The speech came in odd, clicking patterns that sounded like blinking indicator lights, but it was clearly intelligible, meaningful speech. "You speak? You can understand me?"

The tree twitched on his seat, and the downcast reply followed. The blinking sound came once, shortly. "Yes."

_I'll be damned._ Paul stared at his arborous opponent, who was huddled to himself, small and miserable. With the way the thing had reacted, it was just a small... sapling. It had that sprout coming out of its head. It looked like a kid and acted like one, too. Dammit. He was starting to think about these things like they were human. Here the non-human was, hunkering miserably.

Paul sat down on a tree stump, wincing. _Hope that wasn't a cousin of yours._ He glanced curiously to his side; the tree was alive.

"You haven't failed nothing. It was just practice."

If he had hoped for the tree to perk up, it wasn't working. The tree hunched even more miserably and gave a sap-sob. The odd, blinking noise conveyed another downcast message. "I am not strong enough. I will fail."

"But what are you trying to do?"

"Stop evil."

Paul Phoenix had heard it all, he thought, but this took the cake. The tree was on a crusade—a champion for good. It had conjured some kind of an image in its head that there was an evil to fight. It was ludicrous. Yet, Paul didn't need to hold back the snort anything labeled "ludicrous" should have merited. The snort never emerged as anything more than a fleeting whim.

He knew what being talked down to felt like, and the tree looked like its heart had been broken. He didn't like the ewey-gooey, but who was the tree going to tell? Paul shifted in his seat.

"Hey, tree?" What was it called again? "...Mokujin?"

Mokujin remained rooted to the spot. He barely stirred at the call. Paul edged closer on his seat.

"Hey, you listening? It was just practice." Here he was, giving the tree a pep talk. Discomfiting, if vague, memories reminded him of chats with doors and ceilings. By comparison, he was doing all right. "You'll be fine once the real matches start."

That crying was making him uncomfortable. True, not much fighting prowess or intellect had been displayed today, but that meant nothing. The tree could rise to the occasion yet. In the meanwhile, a distraction was called for.

"What do you mean by talking about the _evil_? What's that about?"

The answer came in a word: "_Mishma_..."

"Say what?"

Amid the clickety sounds, a definite word was formed and articulated: "Mishima."

"You are going to take down the Mishimas? I'm starting to you like you already!" Paul sprung to his feet and let out a grating laugh. The tree had brass. Zero in self-preservation, but one-hundred in brass. The brass seemed to be doing little for the unhappy log, though. Paul could all but feel a sad pair of blinking eyes on him, and saw the sad nudge of the sapling as the tree hunched. He sobered quickly. "You really are serious," he said to no one in particular.

It was too big a challenge for the tree. Nothing good could come from a fool's vendetta.

"Lighten up, buddy. I'll make you a deal. If you can't take down the Mishimas...," the expression on Paul's face flickered savagely, "...I will."

Glowing eyes flicked and fixated on him, but Paul wasn't bothered. The surety had settled so doggedly that it burned. The rush took over, leaving behind charged intensity that only the anticipation of battle rush could generate. It was a familiar, pleasurable feeling. Paul relaxed.

Mokujin stared at him inscrutably. The workings of its mind were unfathomable, but then, there was a change: an expression, like a smile, fluttered on its face. Paul grinned. That was a promise he would gladly keep. He'd smash down the father, the son, and the corner post if he had to. Wearing the mantle of the man who rid the world of the Mishimas would be a pleasure.

**THE END**

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**Published** May 13, 2011.

**Many thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

Thanks for reading! Slightly agrammatical constructions and inaccuracies are meant as narrative nuances. There is one more story left for a complete collection, and I hope not to keep you waiting too long.


	3. Law Family

**Summary**: Paul Phoenix makes friends with the Law family.

Last one to go.

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**Laws of Friendship**  
_featuring the Law family_

by Salysha

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Behind every skittish man is a vicious woman.

**"Marshaall!"**

Marshall Law jumped as the summons cut the air, closer and sharper than before. Paul watched as his friend sought a sanctuary, a wild look in his eyes and his baby boy cradled tightly in his arms. The call cut the air again, and every cell of Marshall looked for an escape. There was none: they were effectively caged and cornered. Past the next room, there was nowhere to run. Marshall paused to stare at the windows so long that Paul was almost sure his friend was going to shoot through and run for it.

"Take him? Please?"

Paul Phoenix was already backing off strategic steps when Marshall's sudden dash forward foiled his retreat.

"Marshall, I don't know anything about babies."

He had watched Marshall baby that suspicious bundle, but he hadn't wanted to hold it. No way.

"It's probably nothing. She's been a little edgy," Marshall said uncertainly, and Paul, who was a friend, didn't say anything. Next thing Paul knew, he was in possession of the suspicious bundle, and Marshall had scurried away with a pleading look at him and a kiss on the bundle's forehead.

While Marshall went to face his doom, Paul was left with something more alien to him than a fleet of UFOs. He startled when he realized he was truly holding a baby in his arms. The fear that he was going to drop the bundle struck instantly, and he wrapped his arms around it tighter. The movement was sudden, and he realized just as quickly that babies didn't like rough treatment. He fully expected a roaring bawl to start, and angrily tried to brace himself for the torture he was about to endure.

No such bawl surfaced. The baby remained perfectly peaceful.

"Wha—?" Paul's amazement was boundless. His awe never had a chance to develop further; a shrill voice sounded from across the house. Paul looked around, glanced at the baby, and with a worried crinkle of his face, padded to the next door, pulling the door closed behind him.

The Law home wasn't that big. Paul had never understood what the small room was for or why they didn't renovate and get rid of it, but he was thankful for it now. It was nice and safe from afternoon heat. He figured babies didn't like direct sunshine. As an added bonus, the room had an easy chair with his name on it. Paul settled down guardedly. He scanned around for a crib or something, but the search proved unsuccessful. _In the hour of need..._ Sighing, Paul leaned back in the chair as securely as he could, holding the bundle in his arms.

"It's just you and me, kid."

The bundle was staring at him with its dark eyes. Impossibly dark eyes.

"Aren't you something?" Paul said gruffly. It didn't even get scared, even though Paul knew his voice was rough and he wasn't much good at softening it. It wasn't crying, even though it didn't have mommy or daddy around. Paul's brow furrowed, and he cradled the bundle more securely. He didn't know Marshall's wife too well. A quiet woman, the reserved type, she had always been detached to him in a civil way. She had seemed normal enough, but he had learned different. The battle-axe had taken control. _Maybe it's the hormones..._ Paul couldn't stop the tug of sadness.

Something else had to be done; he needed a distraction. Paul joggled the bundle. To his amazement, it reacted with delight. "Must be great to be happy about something so trivial."

His best friend had a kid. This was big. This was so big that even though this wasn't his kid, Paul felt like choking. He brushed the cloth the baby was wrapped up in. A small hand darted from inside the bundle and latched onto his hand. The baby had curled its little fist around his finger. It was a damn strong hold, like they were monkeys or something... Suddenly, Paul came to think of _The Baby_ as an exceptionally insightful, apt baby.

"You and me are going to be best buddies, kid. I'll teach you how to ride a bike, when you're old enough."

The kid had him wrapped around his finger.

Noises came from the other side of the house. Paul glanced at the door, but they were out of the way so far. "That's just your daddy getting beaten up by your mommy. Luckily, you don't understand yet."

He had intended to stay put until Marshall returned, but then came the sound of glass breaking. The walls shook with suppressed impact. His plans received an instant update. "Whaddoya say we go somewhere else?"

To be a kid like that, without a worry in the world. It put the responsibility on other shoulders. Paul set the baby on the floor, almost sure it would develop the instant ability to run off. The baby proved worth his faith again; while he looked for a piece of paper and scribbled down a few words, it stayed neatly in place, seemingly happy. Paul cracked a window open and decided he would have no trouble stepping out. He gathered the bundle in his arms and, balancing it carefully, took one last look around. This was the right thing to do.

Marshall would come for the baby as soon as he could crawl again. A couple of hours, max. Paul gave his protégé one last chance to back up, but it seemed serious and trusting. Quietly, Paul snuck out of the window with the bundle. "Don't worry. Uncle Paul's got ya."

**THE END**

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**Published** August 16, 2011.

**Huge thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

Reviews are much appreciated! Many thanks to those who took the time for a good word and more: **spongecake 2**, **Razer Athane** (doubly thanks!), **Sei Honou**, **occasionallyme**, **HOIME G**, **redeyedcat**, **Dechuu**, **MissDragunova**, and **RandomEncounter**.


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